Disclaimer: Does anybody really read these? YES, THEY'RE MINE! I'm RICH, RICH, RICH! *grin*
Timeline: Roughly 2251, about a year after Angel & Rain first met. Again, no sci-fi details...just imagine that the future is more or less like the present.
Spoilers: None, yet.
Distribution: The usual suspects, and anybody else who'd care for it! The illustrated version, as usual, can be found on my site:
Author's Notes: Having serious B/A missage, the last few days...also experiencing some cognitive dissonance over the whole Pod Buffy business. *sigh* So if it's a little angry, just bear with...If you haven't read A Face So Familiar, you can do so on my site, linked above.
Feedback: PLEASE, do. You don't want to see an old lady hurt herself by getting down on her knees to BEG, do you?
Rating: R - there's lots of bad language.
Summary: Rain Summers was an ordinary woman, living an ordinary life in 23rd century Los Angeles. One night, while out with her friends, she noticed a handsome stranger watching her from the crowd. That stranger's name was Angel, and he and Rain became friends.What Rain doesn't know is that she is the mirror image of her ancestor, the great Vampire Slayer, Buffy Summers. She also doesn't know that Angel was Buffy's lover for close to 90 years, or that Rain herself is about to be called to the same sacred duty as the one that drove both Angel and Buffy's lives. Rain reflects on her relationship with the mysterious, yet familiar, stranger, and the life-changing event of her Calling.

Destiny.

It's a simple word, really, made up of seven simple letters... one of those words that gets knocked around so much that it kind of loses its original punch. I think it was even the name of a car, once. Most people don't think about destiny much -- they dismiss it as some old-fashioned, romantic notion best left to ancient pop novels and poetry.

I know *I* wasn't thinking about Destiny, when mine found me.

It was just before spring. I remember because the sky was so bright and blue that February, it was almost like the atmosphere had burned away from the planet, and left nothing but the soothing warmth of the still-distant sun. Of course, I do realize that the perfect blue sky was the atmosphere, but you get my meaning.

My life up to that point had been pretty ordinary. It had a normal rhythm and texture to it, just like millions of others in the world, with the ebb and flow of change that paces every woman's life. I was a happy child, a happy teenager, a happy young woman... I had a wonderful, if geographically distant family. I had a group of friends I really liked, a pretty active social life, a kick ass wardrobe, and a brand-new degree in Psychology on the mantel. Life was smooth and easy, bright and full of promise, just like the sky, that early spring.

Meeting Angel the previous year didn't change that, right away. Or maybe it did, I'm not sure I can remember accurately, anymore. It seems like, for a while, he was only on the edge of my mind, outside the rhythm of my existence, like an extra note in my life's symphonic score. But I liked him there. He was Mystery Guy, tall, dark, and ravishing, who always showed up at just the right moment to lend a desperately needed helping hand.

The first time I saw him, it blew me away. Not just his physical beauty -- although there was that -- but the fact that he felt comfortable and familiar and exhilarating to me, as if I had known him my entire life. I felt it right away, and each time we met, like it was part of my cellular programming.

And that was before he even told me his name.

I'm pretty certain that was the catalyst. That was the moment that the sky cracked open and started sucking my old life away, replacing it with this half-fairy tale, half-nightmare that I live now. At the time, I didn't know anything about Destiny, or Sacred Duty, or the whole Anam Cara thing. That all came later. All I saw was this tall, gorgeous, strong, brilliant, and gentle guy who seemed to get some kick out of watching my back. Who was I to argue? All it took was for him to speak the words: "I'm Angel," and I was done.

I fell for him like a rock. It was easy and simple, just like the rest of my life back then. No angst or woe or melodrama... The fact that I knew nothing about him -- not what he did, or where he was from, or even his last name -- didn't matter one tiny bit. I just wanted him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Once I knew his name, after that first night he walked me home, I started seeing him everywhere -- at the gym, in the clubs, at the museum where I worked part time... It was his extensive knowledge of fine art, I think, that finally made us become friends. We would stop for coffee and talk, and Angel would walk me home. It wasn't long before he would come over and watch TV at my apartment, or accompany me to galleries or recitals or concerts, on those occasions when I didn't have a date... or didn't want one.

Angel was my bud. He helped me with my grocery bags, he helped me take out the garbage. He even fixed my car, once -- and did all those other little things that constantly need doing in an apartment. He was that man every single woman feels is nice to have around.

He was an odd sort, to be sure. Okay, so, I could even say weird, and it wouldn't be too far from accurate. He read Moliere and watched football. He could talk about Degas in one breath, and 20th century teen horror flicks in the next. He was a gourmet cook, but never balked at the opportunity to slam a pizza or some nachos. He was soft-spoken and gentle, but I'd seen him drop my leviathan of an ex-boyfriend with a single punch. He was practically a Zen master in his unflappably calm demeanor, and yet I knew he possessed a pretty scary knowledge of war and weapons, as well. He liked opera... he liked jazz... he liked country... he liked rock.

I was crazy about him. I mean, like, batty -- out of my skull, doing back flips, mad about the boy. Everything about him attracted me, including all of his secrets. I don't think I was ever unclear about my feelings for Angel. Although I don't think I ever came right out and told him, it must have been obvious, how I felt.

But he was a perfect gentleman, on top of everything else. He never once tried to lay a finger on me. In fact, Angel was a compulsively "Big Personal Space" guy. Despite our many late nights and sometimes deeply emotional conversations, he never touched me. Not once. Not sexually, or in any other way: no hugs, no friendly kisses on the cheek. Hell, I don't think he ever came closer than a few feet away from me, even when he was teaching me how to fight.

By that February, I was beginning to think I'd lost my touch. Either that, or Angel -- my gorgeous, sexy, amazing Dark Angel -- didn't want me because he was as gay as the day was long.

Who am I kidding? I knew Angel wasn't gay, no matter what I tried to convince myself. I caught him looking at me out of the corner of his eye when he thought I wasn't paying attention. I knew he watched me, even when he didn't make his presence known. I could see the appreciation in his eyes when I got dressed up, changed my hair, or tried a new lipstick.

I knew he liked me. But for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why he didn't want me. I was practically consumed by desire for him, all of the time. But Angel always treated me with courtesy and respect, like a best friend's younger sister.

So, being the pushy broad that I am, I asked him about it one night. We had just eaten enough Mexican food to feed the whole of Central America, and we sat in front of the TV, watching old westerns, and sucking down shots of tequila.

Even Angel's shots were perfect -- the salt lick, the guzzle, the sucking of the lime -- all in one graceful, flawless motion, like he'd done it every day forever. Every move Angel made seemed calculated, thoroughly thought out, and comfortable, to him. He was amazing.

Did I mention I was really drunk when I confronted him? I should have, because it's important.

I sat, curled up on my couch, watching him watch TV. After a while, he noticed I was staring, and turned those dark eyes on me, making me feel like he had pierced my soul.

"What?" he asked, noticing my idiot-gaping expression.

"Do you think I'm attractive?" I asked him.

Angel started, a little, but his posture immediately returned to normal.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

I shot him a look, "You know what I mean. You, man... me, woman..."

He stopped trying to evade me, knowing full well I wouldn't give up until I got the answers that I sought.

"Of course, I think you're attractive," he said. Turning back to the TV and keeping his neutral tone, he added, "You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

Okay, so I hadn't been expecting that. His answer only confused me more. I slid closer to him, on the couch. I liked being close to Angel -- I'm a pretty small woman, and he seemed like a giant, beside me. Another strange attraction: the fact that he could probably crush me without much effort, and yet didn't. It was a definite turn-on.

Angel turned to look at me once again, watching with cautious interest as I moved closer, and looked into his eyes.

"Do you like me, Angel?" I asked him.

His expression remained impassive, but I could see something burning in his deep brown eyes...

"Of course," he answered, as if it should be obvious.

I leaned closer, and saw him lick his lips unconsciously -- usually a sure sign that a girl is about to kiss or be kissed. I got a couple of inches from him, and he began to pull away slowly. Drunk as I was, and steeled by his admission that he thought I was beautiful, I pressed on. I was going to get a taste of those lips!

Angel looked at me in shock for a moment, then abruptly got up.

"I should go," he said, and grabbed his coat from the chair near the door.

I jumped to my feet and stood as tall as I could. He was, of course, still a good foot taller, and at least twice my weight, so I don't think I was intimidating him as much as I would have liked. Slow and easy hadn't worked, so now, on to Plan B: Pure Aggression. I grabbed Angel and yanked him down to me, sealing my lips firmly on his.

It was like being struck by lightning. My vision swam and my heart pounded, and it was all I could do not to faint from the pure electric thrill of it. It was a simple kiss, like a million others I'd given or received before, but it rocked me to my foundations.

Still not touching me, Angel pulled away. The way he looked at me... like I was some wild creature trying to eat him, and he wanted me to... I knew for certain, in that second, that he did want me. But there was such an edge of pain and fear on his usually cool features, my ardor cooled faster than a fireplace ember in a meat locker.

"I'm sorry, Rain," he said softly, "You're my friend. I don't want to hurt you. But we can't... get involved... like that."

I was dizzy and unable to stand anymore, so I sank back down to the couch and looked up at him.

"Why not? Do you already have a girlfriend?" I asked.

He closed his eyes briefly, then looked back into mine again. "No," he said.

"Are you gay?"

His brow scrunched. "No."

"Then again, I ask: why not?"

Angel looked down at me, like he was remembering something from a long time ago. I wondered what it was... an old heartbreak, maybe? I could feel this pain coming off him in waves, all the time, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Usually, I figured, it was just some weird loner vibe. But all of a sudden, it was what was standing in the way of us being together. Or at least, that's what I thought.

"Please," he said, "Just trust me when I say it's not a good idea."

I blinked at him, hurt and embarrassed, and growing annoyed at the way the room was starting to spin.

He sighed. "Rain... there are a lot of things you don't know about me. About my past. I like our friendship the way that it is. Don't think that it's you... I do think you're very attractive. I've thought about..." he blinked, reconsidering what he was saying, "Don't push this, Rain. I'm asking you, if you care about me, not to push."

I stared at him, wavering in and out of focus before me.

"I'm gonna be sick," I said.

I dashed for the bathroom and promptly puked my guts out. Angel followed me in and held my long hair back while I totally lost it, alternating between barfing and crying.

Romantic, isn't it? One of my life's most glorious moments.

But he didn't seem to mind. He gently carried me to my bed, removing my socks and jeans like a true gentleman, with his eyes averted. He tucked me in, and forced three Tylenols and a big glass of water down my throat. I lay back and looked up at him, wishing he would stand still and stop spinning so I could say what I had to say.

"I think I love you," I told him.

Angel smiled... that little, crooked smile I so rarely got to see, but said nothing.

Unconsciousness was quickly catching up with me. My empty stomach lurched, and I leaned over my garbage can to dry heave, with Angel softly caressing my back. Finally, I leaned back onto the pillows, and he sat in the chair nearby.

"I think I'm dying..." I moaned.

He chuckled. "You're not... but you'll wish you did, tomorrow."

"I don't get it," I mumbled, closing my eyes, "You think I'm beautiful, you're not gay, and you don't have a girlfriend, so... why don't you love me?"

I don't know if I was actually expecting him to answer. I more or less passed out the minute the words were past my lips. But, I could swear I heard him say:

"I do... I always have."

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